My dear friend:  The last mail brought me your letter of the 2d instant, as the former had brought me that of the 25th past.  I did suppose that you would be sent over, for the first day of the session; as I never knew a stricter muster, and no furloughs allowed.  I am very sorry for it, for the reasons you hint at; but, however, you did very prudently, in doing, ‘de bonne grace’, what you could not help doing; and let that be your rule in every thing for the rest of your life.  Avoid disagreeable things as much as by dexterity you can; but when they are unavoidable, do them with seeming willingness and alacrity.  Though this journey is ill-timed for you in many respects, yet, in point of finances, you will be a gainer by it upon the whole; for, depend upon it, they will keep you here till the very last day of the session:  and I suppose you have sold your horses, and dismissed some of your servants.  Though they seem to apprehend the first day of the session so much, in my opinion their danger will be much greater in the course of it.

When you are at Paris, you will of course wait upon Lord Hertford, and desire him to present you to the King; at the same time make my compliments to him, and thank him for the very obliging message he left at my house in town; and tell him, that, had I received it in time from thence, I would have come to town on purpose to have returned it in person.  If there are any new little books at Paris, pray bring them me.  I have already Voltaire’s ‘Zelis dans le Bain’, his ‘Droit du Seigneur’, and ‘Olympie’.  Do not forget to call once at Madame Monconseil’s, and as often as you please at Madame du Pin’s.  Au revoir.

LETTER CCLXII

Bath, November 24, 1763

My dear friend:  I arrived here, as you suppose in your letter, last Sunday; but after the worst day’s journey I ever had in my life:  it snowed and froze that whole morning, and in the evening it rained and thawed, which made the roads so slippery, that I was six hours coming post from the Devizes, which is but eighteen miles from hence; so that, but for the name of coming post, I might as well have walked on foot.  I have not yet quite got over my last violent attack, and am weak and flimsy.

I have now drank the waters but three days; so that, without a miracle, I cannot yet expect much alteration, and I do not in the least expect a miracle.  If they proved ‘les eaux de Jouvence’ to me, that would be a miracle indeed; but, as the late Pope Lambertini said, ’Fra noi, gli miracoli sono passati girt un pezzo’.

I have seen Harte, who inquired much after you:  he is dejected and dispirited, and thinks himself much worse than he is, though he has really a tendency to the jaundice.  I have yet seen nobody else, nor do I know who here is to be seen; for I have not yet exhibited myself to public view, except at the pump, which, at the time I go to it, is the most private place in Bath.